Monster Is Just A Matter Of Perspective
by HowToBeAFangirl101
Summary: This is a story of a boy who was betrayed and forced to take the form of a monster. This is a story of how a monster can be more than it appears, and how a monster can become a symbol of hope to those who fear it. But overall, this is a story about how a shift in perspective can turn monsters into humans and humans into monsters.
1. Best Of Intentions

_AUTHOR'S NOTES:_

 _Hello, fellow fanpeople! Welcome to a "monster" of a fic! *hardy har*_

 _I've actually written fanfiction before, but I've never posted anything, so please be kind; I've only been writing off-and-on (mostly off) for a few years. This is my first Attack on Titan fanfiction (I recently watched the anime and fell in love) and my first time posting anything. This is not really a Shingeki no Kyojin fic; it doesn't really relate to the manga, except for a few things here and there, but I think I'll be posting it in both categories just to be safe. This fic is also cross-posted on AO3 (Archive of Our Own) under the same username, just with underscoring between each word (contact me if you feel the need to look it up and can't find it)._

 _Updates shouldn't be too slow, but knowing me, don't be surprised if I do disappear for a few weeks. Thankfully, the first twelve chapters are already written, so they should be up pretty quickly!_

 _SUMMARY: Some tales cross generations and geography, reaching across time and circumstance to be told and to be heard. At this story's beginning, it was not one of these. This is a story of a boy who was betrayed and forced to take the form of a monster. This is a story of how a monster can be more than it appears, and how a monster can become a symbol of hope to those who fear it. This is a story of despair, loneliness, death, hatred, and grief. This is a story of friendship, love, family, hope, and life. But overall, this is a story about how a shift in perspective can turn monsters into humans and humans into monsters._

 _DISCLAIMER: I (obviously) don't own Attack on Titan or Shingeki no Kyojin._

 _Chapter 1: Best of Intentions (Sometimes Aren't Enough)_

 _He remembers being human, remembers the way that his mother would sometimes run her fingers through his hair and hum a dancing tune; remembers the way that festival days made his town so much brighter and full of laughter and filled the air with newness. He remembers how his father taught him how to heal, teaching him the uses for herbs – on those days, his father would take him out to the forest and they would identify plant life and steal fruit to eat, and they would walk home stained with juice and carrying apples and pomegranates and blueberries for his mother._

 _He also remembers the day he stopped being human; remembers the sting of the syringe in his upper arm and the regret filling his father's eyes. He remembers the way his father's soft flesh split and burst just like the peaches they would eat together, and he remembers how his father was composed and terrified – at least until he was bitten in two and then he screamed but only for a second until he was swallowed in halves._

 _He remembers later vomiting up orange sludge that crystallized into a hard, amber-like substance, and he remembers staring at his father's dead eyes, uncomprehendingly, with the sense of an animal, before his reason returned and his form melted away, leaving him with the body of a weak boy. He remembers hugging the crystal and heaving great, ugly, shuddering sobs and hating himself for being weak and succumbing to bloodlust, hating his new race for its hunger, even hating his father for causing his change._

 _He remembers being eleven and realizing that going back to his village would be impossible now that he is a kin-killer and race-traitor; remembers leaving his father's remains to be discovered and running away from his familiar forest to another beyond the walls. He remembers being twelve and running afoul of a band of soldiers, and coincidentally, he remembers learning his flesh was impossible to permanently wound. He remembers being thirteen and building his own house deep in the heart of enemy territory. He remembers being twenty and losing control and destroying his house in a fit of rage. He remembers being thirty and looking down on his youthful, unblemished hands and realizing that he hadn't aged past fifteen. After that, he stopped keeping track of the years and started staying in his other form for longer and longer measures of time._

 _Most of the time now, he forgets that he was ever human at all, but when he remembers, he'll steal baubles from human habitations and stare at them, touch them with one giant finger, perhaps try to recall what they were used for._

 _Once, he had tried to reveal himself to a village of humans. He remembers the way they ran in terror, eyes wide with unbridled, mindless fear. Atlas, they called him, Titan, world-holder, mountain-crusher. He remembers thinking the name appropriate; a Titan tasked with the weight of the sky, but it wasn't until years later than he realized exactly how appropriate that title was._

It's raining, and even though the drops fizzle and steam in contact with his skin, he's hunched under the protection of a wide-leaved tree on the edge of the forest. His hair hangs in sodden strings around his face as he glares balefully out into the gray-skied tranquility. He isn't cold; his temperature runs too high for that, but nevertheless he dislikes the way the water finds its way into his eyes and the way the air feels clammy and vaguely suffocating and how it dampens all the natural scents in the area. At least it isn't the kind of rain that stings and buffets and blocks out everything from sight but water. He snorts, steam rising in a lazy swirl.

He had wanted to explore the abandoned human habitations near the forest again, but the rain made that impossible; he had once tried tearing off a roof and leaving the house open to the elements, and had come back later to find the delicate innards of the house ruined and waterlogged and its precious treasures destroyed.

With an annoyed grunt, he turns to find better shelter, and that's when he sees it. At first, he thinks it's a malformed bird or a misshapen cloud, but then he sees human shapes in it, and so he watches it come closer and closer, curious about what this new contraption is. It makes to land in the field land in front of the forest, but there is a sudden wind that picks it up and throws it towards the forest, right in front of him. He whirls out of its way, and it catches on a tree right where his head had been. He stands still so that the humans in it won't see him. One of the humans climbs out on a branch and starts yowling to the others inside the part hanging out in the air. Atlas watches, spellbound, as the one on the branch pokes and prods at the part held fast. He silently takes a step closer, and is able to see that the one on the branch is a male, and that there is another male, a female, and a - what is the word ... tiny human in the hanging part. Fixed on learning more about this contraption and humans, he goes to take another step forward, and freezes as a log cracks underneath his foot, vainly hoping they won't see him. His hopes are in vain, as the human on the branch shouts out to the others, and they turn and see him. He hunches down slightly in attempt to look harmless, but the female still screams, and he winces from the ringing in his sensitive ears. The tiny human is wailing, too, and he slumps even further. He didn't mean to upset them; and so, he runs away and leaves the strange humans there, feeling strangely bereft and hurt. It doesn't matter, though; they'll be gone soon anyway.

Of course, when he comes back to the edge of the forest, they're still there, stuck in the tree. He hides himself far enough away that they can't see him, and sets about watching them from a distance. He can smell much better now that the rain is gone. The female smells of milk and the males of sweat. The tiny human smells like newness and feces, and is wailing pitifully at the female, who shushes it absentmindedly. What does it want? Food, water, things to play with? The tiny human wails again, and when no one pays attention to it, Atlas rumbles fretfully, protective instincts rising. Tiny things of all species are weak and need help to learn and grow. If the humans themselves will not care for their tiny thing, then it is up to Atlas to do so. The matter decided, he huffs out a trickle of steam and leaves.

Water is an easy enough task. First, he gathers a broad, scooped leaf about the size of his palm and then tromps to a nearby narrow stream. Dipping the leaf in the water, he finds that the current is too fast and grumbles in annoyance. He finds a slower, wider stream and chirps when the leaf fills with clear water. Then, slowly, carefully, sliding one foot after the other, he makes his way to the humans' tree and sets it down at the base after making sure they weren't there at the moment.

Next is playthings, and he has no idea of what a tiny human would want. So, he goes to a human house nearby and pries off the roof. Inside, there is a lot of wood things, which he decides against because the tiny human is already surrounded by wood. There are the soft feather-things, which he masterfully manages to not burst with his large fingers. Inside a wooden thing, there is something that glints metallically, and when nudged with the tip of one of his fingers, the top whirrs pleasantly. He snorts delightedly, and puts it on the palm of his hand along with the vine. In an open-faced wood thing, he finds things that look like leaves pressed together and etched with dirt. He thinks that humans like those sort of things, so those go in his palm as well. Deciding that his spoils are enough to keep the tiny human occupied, he wraps them in another leaf and drops them off as he did before.

Now, hunting is another matter entirely. Atlas dislikes killing, and he has never hunted before. He's seen solitary hunters trek through the forest and hunt with stick-throwers, but his hands are too large to hold one, and he has no weapons but his body. But, if puny humans do it every day, how hard can it be. As it turns out, very hard. On his first try, he bursts out of the cover of the trees too soon, and the herd of deer bound away and scatter into the closely-grown trees too quickly for him to follow. His second try results in a messy smear on the ground; the less said, the better. After that, he tries to hunt birds for a while, scaring them out of trees and clapping his hands together to form a trap. This ends worse than the deer, as his hands are pecked at by flocks of birds, and he eventually is swarmed and forced to retreat. So, he decides to aim for larger prey. He follows the scratches on trees and the scent markers, and finds his way to a small cave set in a hill. The bear is inside, and when it smells him coming, it tries to escape, but he is waiting outside. Its head is crushed with one well-aimed swat, and Atlas is pleased with his first successful hunt. The bear is deposited at the base of the tree along with his other offerings. Happy with himself, he puffs a jet of steam smugly. See, caring for tiny things is easy! He can only wonder why the humans weren't doing so before.

His ears twitch as he hears the sounds of the humans coming back. Quickly, he retreats behind another tree and watches the four humans chatter as they walk. One of the males notices Atlas's offerings on the ground, and yowls to the others. They poke warily at the bear – _silly humans, can't they see the bear is dead?_ – but eventually they use vines to tie his offerings and bring them up to their strange hanging machine. He coos in satisfaction, his vocal cords barely rumbling, because the tiny human isn't yowling. Smiling to himself – or at least as much as he can with his mouthful of teeth – he leaves the humans to their devices and promises himself that he'll visit again soon.

Atlas is shrouded in sunlight. Years ago, he had found this clearing which was large enough for him to lay down and still be in the sun. Even longer still, he had realized that his body absorbed the sunlight and loved it. He is laying on his back with his eyes closed, his only vision of the orange through his eyelids. Occasionally, a bird will fly by and chitter at something. He has been there for so long that even the deer are content to graze around him. He is at peace.

His ear twitches at something inconsequential, and his nose languidly learns each scent borne to him on the wind. Today is a beautiful day; the leaves on the trees are shone through with golden light, the animals of the forest are happily going about their days, and most importantly – no rain.

Humming thoughtfully, he opens his eyes. The humans would be out of meat by now, and he didn't know if they would hunt. Perhaps this time he will try his hand at the herds of deer again. Unhurried, he moves his bulk into a standing position and searches for the scent of horned mammals.

Miraculously, he emerges from his hunt with a not too brutally mutilated deer carcass, and considers it a success. Bringing his spoils back to the humans' tree, he stops short upon smelling the humans still at the tree, and cautiously rounds a thicket to see the proof. One of the males is on the branch working on the part still stuck, and the others are in the hanging part. The male's small fists suddenly pound at the bark in frustration, and Atlas, caught unaware, flinches slightly. What is wrong with the human? Do they not want to be in the tree? Is it just that they can't get their flying machine down to the ground? Should he help them?

He is drawn out of his musings when the male gets up and kicks at the branch in annoyance, but his foot slips against the bark and he topples out into the air. Atlas moves without thinking and catches the human in his palm. He blinks down at the male, half-surprised to see him there; the male blinks back, and then promptly starts screaming. The other humans are startled out of their shock, and also begin shouting. Atlas winces, and delicately tips the male into the hanging part before throwing the deer corpse at the base of the tree, and then races through the trees as quickly as his legs will carry him.

He winds up on the other side of the forest. Breathing heavily, he rests his head against a tree trunk and sighs dejectedly through his nose. Perhaps he just has to try harder to make the humans unafraid of him. Yes, he would get them all the food and water they could want, _and_ run off any of his kind who dared show their noses around _his_ humans and _his_ forest. For as long as they stayed here, Atlas would protect the humans from his kin, and even himself if need be.

AUTHOR'S NOTES:

– If you can't guess, the contraption the humans arrived in is a hot air balloon. Now, armed with that information, three guesses on who is actually in the hot air balloon! *wink, wink*

– The things that Atlas gathers from the human house, in order are: pillows, an eggbeater, and books. It was hard to describe ordinary things through the eyes of someone who doesn't know what they are, so I put them down here so you guys could know what I was talking about.


	2. Meeting You Is Like Meeting A Friend

Chapter 2: Meeting You Is Like Meeting A Friend

 _Author's Note:_

 _Sorry for those of you who were waiting so patiently for this! Up to chapter 14 is actually posted on AO3 under the username of How_To_Be_A_Fangirl_101. I actually posted this there first, then started posting it here and promptly forgot. I am currently on a hiatus for writing this, and will be for the foreseeable future, but I'll post what I have here anyway._

 _Also, one last note. If anything confuses you about/in this fic, don't be shy! I'll try to answer any questions you have._

Today, the humans have left their tree and are exploring the forest. Atlas is there, of course, but at a safe distance. He watches with a careful eye and an even more attentive ear for any of his kind that should find themselves near his precious humans. The female and the tiny human are splashing in the water while the males are situated on the bank nearby. One of the males joins in, and Atlas can't help but wrinkle his nose in disgust. What kind of being would _want_ to be surrounded by water – it's worse than being rained on, in his opinion.

A long time ago, Atlas had roamed far beyond his forest, and had explored for the sake of moving. He had seen the hills that rose from stone and stretched higher than him to the sky, had seen ground that sunk with the weight of a stone, had seen vast stretches of land that shifted underfoot and where no trees found root. He had seen strange animals that he had no words for – ones that their elongated necks grew to almost half his height, ones that lived in complete darkness and had no eyes, ones that ones that lived both on land and in water. And, once, he had come across a great swath of water. He had thought it was just a large pond, but as he made his way around it, there was no end, and so decided to wade across. At first, the water had been very shallow, no more than up to his ankles, but as he got farther and farther, it deepened. When it was up to his thighs, he made to turn around, but his foot had caught on something, and, as a redwood tree falls with terrible gravity and intent, so too did Atlas fall into the pristine, welcoming water. Flailing about for a time, he had thrashed as he sunk farther away from the sun. Walls of rock had closed about him as he desperately cast his eyes to the glimmers winking from the receding surface. Even now, Atlas is still unsure as to how he finally broke the surface of the water, but he plans to never again have the opportunity to find out.

But that is beside the point. Atlas shakes himself from his stupor and once again turns his attention towards the humans who, apparently, have no such misgivings over the danger they are in. His eyes droop as the noonday sun works fingers into his shoulders, and he watches as the last male joins the rest in the river. Wistfully, he wishes he were their size and could join them in their joy and freedom.

So caught up in his musings, that he doesn't hear the thumps of giant footsteps, nor the slight whistling of a great mass traveling at speed. What he _does_ hear is the bellow his fellow Titan gives upon spying the humans in the midst of their play. Atlas, jolted into a panic, immediately roars back and lurches forward to intercept the other before it can reach the humans. It is close – the female is almost within the Titan's grasp before Atlas barrels into it at full force. They land a good distance away, and Atlas scrambles to his feet quickly. Swinging a fist at the other Titan, he roars in anger as its face liquifies at his strike, but still it stumbles forward. He shoves it down with a screech of warning and begins to stomp it to smithereens. He starts with the arms and legs, then the head, then the torso, and only when a steaming heap of flesh is left does he realize that he's been roaring the whole time. He hears whimpering behind him, and almost sheepishly, almost like a small child caught with a cookie, he turns to the humans, who are huddled on the edge of the trees. His ears droop in embarrassment, and he quickly spins on his heel to escape their wide and disbelieving, horror-filled gazes.

He knows he enjoyed the brutal slaughter too much, but he can't help it. He despises his kind for a multitude of reasons – some of which he himself can't articulate. He has killed his kind before, many times, and will continue to do so. But it isn't the humans' way to kill their own kind in such a manner, and he worries whether or not his humans will ever come to trust in his intentions.

MATTEROFPERSPECTIVE-MATTEROFPERSPECTIVE-MATTEROFPERSPECTIVE

The humans have been in his forest for a while, long enough for the leaves to turn red and gold and the animals' coloring to change. Atlas worries what will happen to his humans when the cold wins leverage over the warm. Humans need shelter – heat and food – and their hanging part is very open to the elements. And he worries if the forest will grow too harsh for his poor stranded humans to survive. There are old human houses at the edge of the forest, but the humans haven't explored that far yet. Perhaps he could lead them there, somehow? But would they leave their hanging contraption? He could just chase them to the houses, but that would scare them too much. Maybe he could lure just one of the humans to the houses, and they would tell the rest? That could work. Atlas had noticed that one of the males had been very interested in the pressed-leaf-dirt things he had brought the first time, so perhaps it could work as bait. Atlas snorts determinedly, and sets out in search for more of those strange pressed leaves (and perhaps a few of those soft-feather-things as well – the female had seemed to be very excited about their appearance near their camp).

MATTEROFPERSPECTIVE-MATTEROFPERSPECTIVE-MATTEROFPERSPECTIVE

After searching through enough houses, he has enough bait to cover his palm twice over, and starts setting each item carefully on the ground about a step's length apart. He grumbles the few times he encounters a pond, but otherwise, he is pleased when the last pressed leaf reaches the base of the human's tree. The humans are out and about doing various tasks, so he settles a ways away to watch for their return. It takes so long that the sun is buried in the ground before one of the males notices Atlas's bait at the foot of the tree. Atlas waits in hungry expectancy as the human climbs down and picks up the pressed leaf; he calls to his companions, who yap back – and then climbs back up the tree. Atlas grinds his teeth and utters a displeased yowl under his breath. Perhaps a more … _direct_ method of transportation is required.

He waits until the moon is high in the sky and the humans' breathing is steady, and then slowly, y, tentatively grasps the hanging part in one hand and tugs at the stuck part with the other. With barely any effort, the snag is released. Tiptoeing as much as something his size will allow, he tries to keep the humans from moving as much as possible. Now, he's never been one for stealth, but as he makes his way through the forest, he can't help but gloat a little. Of course, it's then that a deer darts out right where his foot was going, and not wanting to kill the deer, he has to land awkwardly, accidentally jostling the humans as he does. He freezes, and carefully looks at the humans out of the corner of his eye. Seeing nothing amiss, he relaxes and starts moving again while he tries to gain a more secure grip on the hanging part.

Unfortunately for him, he moves forward right into a tree, which partly shatters from the impact. Momentarily forgetting about his human passengers, he yowls in surprise and pain, one hand going to clutch his nose now full of bark splinters. As he does so, he remembers his humans, and freezes once more, peeking through his fingers at the woken humans. There is a hush upon the forest, then the air is filled with shouting. Atlas gulps, and moves quickly in the direction of the houses, holding his humans at arm's length for their comfort. It doesn't work. Soon, he is pelted with stick-throwers, wooden things, even the soft-feather things. It doesn't hurt, but it distresses him that the humans are throwing away all their possessions to protect themselves against something that means them no harm.

He is almost at the human houses, and he jogs lightly so as to not upset his human passengers. The barrage has not died down, and he sneezes as one of the stick-throwers goes up his nose. Up ahead, he sees the edge of the forest, and skids to a halt. The human houses are just ahead, and he sets the humans down as hastily as he can without destroying them or their hanging part, and beats a hasty retreat. From behind the camouflage of the trees, he watches as the humans warily leave their shelter and begin to explore their surroundings. It doesn't take long for them to find the houses, and, one-by-one, they enter the dwellings. Atlas is practically vibrating in joy. His plan worked!

He purrs a little, before remembering all the belongings that the humans had scattered on their way here. Would they want them back? Erring on the side of caution, Atlas sets out the way he came and starts gathering as much as he can. He has to use a piece of petrified bark, but manages to lever almost all of the humans' things on his palm. He couldn't find all of those stick-throwers, and most of their wooden things were broken, but all in all, he considers his efforts a success. Setting them down in the hanging part, Atlas leaves the humans to their business and settles down for the night far enough away that they won't come across him should they choose to go out and explore later on.

MATTEROFPERSPECTIVE-MATTEROFPERSPECTIVE-MATTEROFPERSPECTIVE

He sets up a temporary nest near the humans so he can know if they are attacked. His nest is nice enough; it's a shallow dried-up pond that's old enough to be covered with grass, it's bounded by trees so it's somewhat secluded, and there's a hollowed-out willow tree that was the unfortunate victim of a bolt of lightning that he can put his human treasures in. His treasures consist of a few of those pressed-leaves (he's trying to find why the humans like them so), a great number of those soft-feather things (okay, yes, not just for the female human), a few of those stick-throwers, one of those metal things that humans like to swing around, and his favorite, another metal spin-y thing like the one he had given the tiny human. This was all he needed in a nest, so he was quite happy indeed when he stumbled across it.

It is night, so he lays down with his knees bent and his hands behind his nape as an unconscious protection. He doesn't sleep; he never sleeps, unlike his kin, who lose all functionality when the sun dies for the night. No, he just slows down as the night wears on. Because of this, a while ago he started the habit of staring up at the stars and finding patterns and making stories about them.

 _There is the Solemn Huntress, armed with her moonlit-spun bow, stalking across the stars in search of her prey, the Diamond-Tailed Rabbit. But she never knows that her quarry hides within the Huntress' figure, hidden in plain sight if the Huntress could see how._

 _There is the Fox-Hearted Prince who leaves tears scattered behind him like rose petals across the sky. He dances around his Castle of Clouds happy to make merry, as long as he ignores the air beneath his feet._

 _There is the majestic Great Stag whose antlers could break stone, endlessly circling his greatest foe, the Eagle-Eyed Serpent. The Serpent's fangs are embedded in the Stag's haunch, while the Serpent is crushed by the Stag's weighty hoof. They spin around the sky in their deadly dance, neither one ready to give up just yet._

 _There is the Mother of Monsters at the height of the sky, her arms outstretched to her children underneath. The stars, the humans, the birds or the trees; all this and more she gave to the breeze. While her children fill the earth and the sky, her love is unending, much like her golden husband's light. Mother of Monsters she may be, she knows that "monster" is just another word, just for show; for her children choose the path they walk on and grow._

He is counting the stars in the Huntress' belt when he hears a small noise at the gentle lip of the pond near his shoulder. He turns his head, and freezes at the sight of the tiny human. _What is it doing away from its herd? What is it doing here? What if the other humans come and find it here? Would they blame me?_ Stock-still and mildly panicking, Atlas watches the tiny human. It waves its stubby little hands in the air and pats the trunk of a fallen tree happily. Atlas blinks. It trills noisily and tries to eat grass. Atlas gulps helplessly. Then, it makes to climb down the gentle slope of the pond, and stumbles over a stick before it can start the way down. It starts bawling, and it is then that Atlas moves. Ever so carefully, mindful of his overwhelming strength, he sets his chin down on the grass about a tree's length away and coos soothingly at the tiny human. It stops making its sad sounds, and stares wide-eyed in fascination. Atlas, thinking this might turn out horribly if he doesn't do something quickly, snags the metal spin-y thing and taps the top with his finger; it spins around and throws out glints of light. The tiny human sniffles, then blinks and rubs its eyes with one tiny fist. Crisis averted, Atlas puts the thing away, and tries to make himself as small as possible. It's not comfortable, but the tiny human looks more at ease.

Trying something else, he wiggles his nose and his ears. It works! The tiny human trills again, and gets to his feet. That is where Atlas' plan fails; the tiny human toddles towards his face reaching for his nose. _Uh-oh, oh no, oh no, nonono._ It makes contact, and he stares at it cross-eyed. It burbles and pats his nose in much the same way it patted the tree trunk. Then, it pats its own nose and sits down with a plop. For some time, it taps various parts of his face and its own, yammering all throughout. After the tiny human is finished, it makes to get up, finds it can't, then starts making those wailing noises. Atlas brings a hand to it, and extends a pinky. It grabs on, and he lifts it slightly, bringing it to its feet. It warbles, then pats the pinky, then starts a trek back up the pond. He watches it closely for any more slips, but it reaches the top successfully, then waddles off into the trees.

Atlas relaxes once the tiny human is out of view, and huffs out a cloud of tense steam. Feeling good about his dealing with the tiny human, he purrs in his chest. He hadn't hurt the tiny human, not one bit! But he is wary of if the tiny human will come back, and if its herd will follow. Perhaps it would be better to move his nest farther away from the humans, after all.

 _Author's Note:_

 _And that's a wrap! This last scene with Atlas and the "tiny human" was inspired by a scene in the movie "Spirit: Stallion of the Cimarron"; it's the scene with the little girl in the Indian camp who says "bye, bye, horsie!" Agh, so cute!_


End file.
